


An Imperfectly Perfect Christmas Eve Dinner

by InsertSthMeaningful



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, But he also gets busted, Emma is Queen, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Mention of workplace harassment, Moira is Soft but also Protective, Shaw is Creepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21871042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertSthMeaningful/pseuds/InsertSthMeaningful
Summary: Moira hates seeing Emma worry herself to death over their Christmas Eve dinner. Not everything has to be perfect all the time, and that is what she wants to make her girlfriend see. However, she would never have thought about the consequences for their evening with their guests, especially considering that Emma’s boss in the flesh is attending it…
Relationships: Emma Frost/Moira MacTaggert
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9
Collections: Secret Mutant Madness 2019





	An Imperfectly Perfect Christmas Eve Dinner

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [IreneADonovan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan) in the [secret_mutant_madness_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/secret_mutant_madness_2019) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  For Emma, the holidays were always about appearances -- the perfect tree, the perfect decorations, impressing friends and family and neighbors -- and never something to enjoy. Moira takes it upon herself to teach her a different way. 
> 
> Dear prompter, I hope this won't disappoint! Also, if you want to listen to the (very NSFW but also quite amusing) Christmas song that is mentioned in the third scene, here's the link: Suck On My Cock by Matt Rogers (yes, of course this song has spoiled Jingle Bell Rock for me). 
> 
> Also many thanks to my beta-reader, the amazing lavenderlotion :D

On the day before Christmas, Moira woke to an empty spot beside her on the mattress and the clanging of plates and cutlery in the kitchen downstairs.

She yawned, stretched, and rolled onto her back to study the cracks in the ceiling, delicate like cobwebs. Today was the day. The day Emma had been working towards since December had begun. The day with the Christmas Eve dinner that her girlfriend thought had to be perfect, _absolutely_ perfect.

Well, Moira didn’t think so, not really. But if it made Emma happy, who was she to spoil her party?

It was nearing nine o’clock already, and lazing around in bed became less and less of an option. Also, she knew Emma, and she knew that her girlfriend would torture the living daylights out of her if she didn’t get her ass out of the blankets and down into the kitchen so they could put the finishing touches to the dinner, and the decorations, and the presents…

When she got up, covers bunching around her hips and ankles and the tank top she wore for bed all crumpled, she couldn’t help a sigh slipping past her lips, and her hands flicking down between her thighs. If she looked, she knew would see blossoms of blue and purple bruising just beneath her panties. Oh yes, last night had been a roller coaster of emotions, Emma going from quiet and subdued to jittery and enthusiastic and back again (and Moira knew she was holding back, because when was Emma Frost not holding back with her feelings?), and then Moira had offered to take her down, to make her relax, just the two of them and some massage oil, maybe some candles if they felt cheesy, and definitely their bed. The blankets had to be changed anyway, it didn’t matter if they got a bit sullied.

Turns out they got more than a bit sullied. Moira liked it rough sometimes, Emma liked it rough sometimes, and in conclusion, it had been a good night. Who could possibly complain?

Except that in the dark, after they had arbitrarily cleaned up and pulled up the covers to their chins, Moira had still felt that tension laced around her girlfriend’s limbs, like the fancy lingerie she sometimes liked to surprise her with. And then, in the wee hours of the morning, Moira had woken up, and not on her own accord.

Emma was a telepath, yes, but she not only knew how to shield, it also was her mutations first and foremost purpose. Only if she projected her emotions Moira knew that something was really off, and that had been the case that night. It wasn’t much, only slight tweaks to her dreams, alterations a person who hadn’t been with Emma like Moira had wouldn’t have noticed in the slightest. But they were there, the random glass fronts reflecting the dream surroundings in a cold light, the almost unnoticeable chill spreading through Moira’s bones. Usually, Emma took care not to invade her sleep. Only last night, it seemed, she had been too preoccupied to prevent it.

And when Moira, sleepy still, eyes half shut, had reached over, just to make sure her girlfriend was still there, she had felt cool diamond under her fingers.

It hadn’t been enough to wake her fully, so she had gone back to sleep. But the moment had stayed with her. So, she could be certain that Emma was more than just a little antsy, and she was preparing for mayhem when she stepped down the stairs and into the kitchen.

And indeed, her foot had barely touched the tiles and her hands had barely reached for a Christmas cookie (they had so many bowls of them standing around in the kitchen, one more or less wouldn’t hurt) that Emma turned from the cutting board – as implausible as it sounded, she was wearing an apron, yes, _Emma Frost_ was wearing an _apron_ , and there were _spots_ from the turkey’s marinade on it –, fixed Moira with her glittering eyes and snarled, “Don’t even _think_ about it.”

“Alright, alright.” Moira held up her hands. “Good morning to you too, my love.” The tapping sound of her bare feet on the floor filled the icy silence in the kitchen as she walked over to hug her beautiful girlfriend from behind.

She got a huff and a glare for her efforts, and then Emma had turned back around to finish stuffing the turkey.

Breakfast consisted of coffee for Emma, and even though Moira knew she tried to not let it show, the woman’s nerves were laying blank. And then, the straw that broke the camel’s back was Emma reprimanding her for moving the neatly folded serviettes on the table by an inch when Moira sat down so she could write the name cards on a flat surface.

Moira didn’t have a temper. She didn’t. She was a perfectly calm woman, though not as cold and distant as people liked to label her better half, and she could handle obstacles when they were laid in her way. But not being allowed to so much as move her pinkie in her own home was too much.

Emma’s face when she sat her down on the couch was priceless (“Moira, I just arranged the cushions yesterday, and I swear if there are spots on them after this you won’t live to see noon!”), only Moira didn’t feel like laughing. She felt like taking her girlfriend’s hands in her own instead, to hold them tightly and stop them from trembling ever so slightly. And so that was what she did.

Since the day she had moved in with Emma Frost, about one year ago now, she had felt out of place in the white, unblemished landscape of the telepath’s house, she and her own things which were found to be strewn around carelessly on the floor more than once. Small islands of chipped handmade pottery mugs, or frayed second-hand clothing, or her satchel in which she kept her crumpled lab reports and the occasional chocolate bar wrapping (she prided herself on being not quite as chaotic as her lab partner, but maybe that just was an illusion). All of them colorful imperfections in the spotless perfection of Emma’s home. Now, you could claim that that was just Emma’s aesthetic, but Moira knew it for what it was: an obsession, and not a healthy one. The Christmas Eve dinner was just the tip of the iceberg there.

“I know what you’re going to say, sugar, so don’t even bother,” Emma sighed and smiled that small, exhausted smile of hers. “It is how it is.”

“But it doesn’t have to be.” Moira moved closer, cautiously, so as to not startle Emma like a deer grazing on an open field. “You know it doesn’t have to be. Hey, why don’t we cancel this evening? I know it’s a dick move, but you wouldn’t have to worry and we could watch a movie and eat popcorn-”

Already, Emma was shaking her head. “Honey, no. What would the people think? You know my boss is coming over, and our neighbors, we can’t just cancel on them. And it’s Christmas, it’s just that time of the year.”

“It’s not-” Moira squeezed Emma’s hands, rubbed her shin against her girlfriend’s- “ _just that time of the year_. Christmas is a time where you don’t have to work and you get to enjoy yourself, because it’s a holiday! You know that, don’t you?”

Nothing. No answer. Just a fluttering of her eyelashes as Emma averted her gaze.

Surprise made Moira’s forehead wrinkle. “ _You don’t_.”

She had always thought that she knew Emma Frost very well, and she did, really. Only it seemed that there was so much more to discover about that amazing woman still, every minute, every day.

“We _should_ take the evening off. And then the rest of the week.”

Emma bit her lip, shook her head again. “No, Moira, no. No. It wouldn’t be fair on our guests.”

“Alright.” Moira was having an idea, and she would be cursed if she didn’t at least try to get it through. “Let’s make a deal.”

“Let me hear it first.” And there it was, that glint Moira had longed for since the Christmas preparations had started, that hunger, that interest in Emma’s eyes, the one she always got when she was onto a special case.

Sighing, Moira draped herself over Emma’s shoulders. “Well, since you asked so nicely… We host the dinner this evening, alright. But...” A nip on Emma’s earlobe earned her a slap on her thighs, and she gasped mockingly. “But you take the whole rest of the holidays off. Until New Year’s Eve, when we go to Stark’s party.”

Under her touch, Emma’s skin hardened and became see-through. “Are you serious? There’s so much we still have to do: We need to visit your parents, and Charles’ school, and then my work-”

“We _don’t need_ to do that. They’ll understand that you want to take a break, and if they don’t, they’re jerks.” Carefully, Moira began to draw patterns on her girlfriend’s diamond shoulders. “What you need is some time off. So you can understand that Christmas is supposed to be fun, not work.”

A sigh shuddered out of glittering lips, and Emma turned her head to look her in the eye. “You’re the first to ever tell me that, you know? All the others were either too intimidated or too selfish to care.”

“They were wrong to do so. They should have told you that not everything has to be _perfect_.” Moira leaned over and put her lips to Emma’s, and marveled at the cool yet soft touch when the woman of diamond responded and buried a hand in her hair.

It took a minute or so of exploring Emma’s body with her hands, caressing, feeling, poking, until her hard, glinting skin turned to rosy flesh again, and Moira felt her beloved one relax slightly in her arms.

Finally, finally, they broke apart and Emma muttered, “Good. You win.”

And when Moira smiled, she smiled back, thinly, but evenly.

They got back to work after that, and later, in the kitchen, while they were polishing the glasses for the mulled wine, Moira noticed Emma staring straight ahead into nothing. The lights were on, but nobody was home, and it worried her.

“Emma?” She put down the wash cloth.

“Hmm?” Blinking, the woman in question resurfaced from her thoughts. “Oh. I was just… You made me think about some things. This evening.”

Moira snorted. “This damn evening. It’s nice to have these people over again, they haven’t been here in ages – except for you-know-who. Did he really have to invite himself? I know he’s making you nervous, and he’s your _boss_ , he shouldn’t be here when it’s your holiday.”

“But that’s just the problem.” Emma looked up at her and sighed. “He thinks we have to be up to date all the time, and that a cop’s work can never rest.”

“Oh. I know he’s got other interests too, I’ve seen him look at you, you know.” In her fingers, the wine glass creaked. Beside her, Emma just shook her head, smiled silently and leaned over to peck her on the cheek.

 _Don’t worry_. The words in her head were like a fresh winter’s breeze over the countryside. _You know, today someone finally told me that not everything has to be perfect_.

  
  


Their Christmas Eve dinner had been perfect. The guests had arrived on time, and even Sean, one of their neighbors, had shown up on the doorstep at six o’clock exactly (but only because Emma had told him it would start an hour earlier, yes, she had taken his habit of always being late into consideration). The mashed potatoes, and the turkey and the vegetables had been excellent, just like the soup she had made Moira serve before that, and everyone had been delighted.

The only detail which had worried her had been Sebastian Shaw’s date, a young, lithe and tired-looking man she had never seen before and who was sitting at the table without ever meeting anyone’s eyes or giving more than one-word answers. His name was Erik Lehnsherr, and Charles Xavier, Moira’s lab partner, was taking an almost impolite interest in him. More than once, Emma had had to nudge the other telepath away from leaning too closely to Sebastian’s date, or from reaching out with his hands, or from saying things which could have brought the poor boy into trouble.

Every time, Charles had looked over to her and sent a surprised _Why?_ , and every time, she had just lightly shook her head and answered, _I’ll explain to you another time_.

The thing was that she knew how Sebastian’s perception of right and wrong worked, of what was his and what belonged to others. She saw a kindred spirit in Lehnsherr, a poor soul like her trapped in Shaw’s web of lies and threats, and the least she could do was keep Charles from endangering the man with his advances.

Of course, as soon as they had taken a break from feasting and retired to the living room where they enjoyed mulled wine or orange juice and where the guests could marvel at their Christmas tree – a perfectly symmetrical beauty Emma had selected herself –, Emma was immediately chatted up by Raven, her co-worker, and her girlfriend Irene. They were a gorgeous couple, always very considerate, always there if they could help, always cheerful and friendly. Only now, they were giving Charles an opportunity to corner poor Erik Lehnsherr.

Moira was off talking to Armando and Alex, the couple living in the house just across the street. Emma’s other three colleagues, Azazel, Janos and Angel, who had a tendency to cling to each other whenever possible (no one had found out why yet, and there were wild bets being placed in the police department, but Emma had her own sneaking suspicion), had circled Moira’s other friend from work, a giant man with blue hair all over his face and arms, like hungry hyenas, interrogating him all they could about their fellow police-woman’s romantic partner. It was sweet, really, the way they cared for what person Emma was dating, if she was being treated well and all. She smiled a hidden, bitter smile.

They should have started caring earlier.

Anger flaring over the surface of an all-too-familiar mind made her turn her head and leave Raven and Irene to their contemplation of the Frost-MacTaggert Christmas decoration. Sebastian, her superior at work, was striding over to where Charles had wheeled beside Erik, who was sitting on the sofa and currently talking the most she had heard him talk over the entirety of the evening.

And then, Sebastian leaned over the back of the couch and seized Erik’s shoulder in a firm grip. Under Emma’s eyes, the man deflated, looked away from where his gaze had been locked with Charles’. And he fell silent.

“Erik, mein Liebling,” Shaw said, but he really only was looking at Charles, fixing him with those dead, dead eyes of his, and with his smile like a scythe, “are you alright? Is this man bothering you?”

Before Erik could shake his head, _No, we were just talking_ , Charles smiled back cordially and answered, so loudly that the whole room had to hear it, “Oh no, quite the contrary actually. He just told me he’s Jewish, and so I thought I would put him a bit at ease here, considering he’s been dragged here without consideration of his religious preference.”

Emma had never seen Shaw kill a man. She had read the reports though, from when he went out into the field, and she had seen him angry more times than pleased her. An angry Sebastian Shaw was a dangerous Sebastian Shaw, and Charles was not only playing with Lehnsherr. He was also playing with fire.

Quick thinking now. Moira had turned to watch the scene unfold, just like everybody else. All eyes on them. Good. Fishing her phone out of the back pocket of her white canvas trousers, Emma strode over to their hi-fi system, pronouncing her hip’s swing (her body was the only effective weapon against men like Shaw, as she had discovered a long time ago), and pressed the on-button.

Sebastian had taken the bait, followed her. “Some Christmas music, isn’t that right, Emma?” he hummed.

Smiling pleasantly, she waited until the speakers chirped to show they were connected to her phone, then opened the music app to select a playlist.

At her side, she felt uncomfortable warmth radiate off Sebastian’s body and mind. On the far wall of the room, Moira stood, outrage curling around her like red, deadly fog, and she was starting towards them, but Emma dove to where she knew she could make Moira see reason. _Don’t worry, my love, don’t worry. I’ve got this under control_.

Since the beginning, Moira had trusted her in everything. And even now, she did and stopped. Oh damn, if Emma wasn’t careful she would start crying like a baby.

Shaw’s voice cut through all her emotion. “What a nice little girl you are. I bet you still know what I like, don’t you? And you’ll put it on, just for me?”

Oh, his speech was like a coin, of two different sides. She still knew _what he liked_ , and she regretted it. And through it all, she smiled and said nothing, just tipped on a playlist.

The first notes of a song sounded. On the sofa, she could feel dread settle in the pit of someone’s stomach when Shaw quickly shot a triumphant smile over his shoulder.

_Emma, I don’t think Erik-_

Charles in her head had always been pleasant, like velvet on a frozen lake, but now she simply didn’t have time for him. Ice crackled and grew, and then there was no more noise. Only Shaw speaking, softly, quickly, into her ear.

“Jingle Bell Rock, one of my favorites! You always were so eager to please. I miss you, Emma, having Erik is nice, but it took such a long time for him to stop talking back. And you, you’ll just do anything to be _perfect_ for me-”

“I know.” The corners of her mouth painfully pulled upward, she turned up the volume. “And this song is especially _perfect_.”

_Stroke on my_

Someone gasped behind their backs.

_Lick on my_

A gravelly voice was the first to giggle, Azazel, of course, Emma should have seen that coming.

“ _Suck on my cock_ ,” she said pleasantly, staring directly into Shaw’s eyes, “and now I would like you to leave. You’re making everybody uncomfortable.”

Her knees were shaking, and then Moira’s laugh joined in, clear and golden like a bell, and suddenly, Emma felt okay. It wasn’t like she was making a fool out of herself, the whole room was laughing and wheezing, even Erik was hiding a grin behind his hands, and it was Shaw who was the subject of their malice. Shaw, who was fuming, so she took a step back, just to be sure, and then turned to go grab his coat from the clothes rack.

“You-” Her supervisor ground his teeth, until he saw that he had lost and spun on his heels to march of towards his date. “Come on, Erik, we’re leaving. These people here are bad company.”

He didn’t get far. Erik had stood up, was glancing down at Charles and then back at his partner. “Thank you, Sebastian, but I’m staying.”

Narrowing his eyes, the spoken-to made a grab for him, but Erik evaded him easily. “And,” he spoke calmly when he had brought some distance between them, “tomorrow I’m filing a lawsuit against you for blackmailing and harassment.”

Silence. It was as though the whole room had stopped breathing (which was probably the case). Only Matt Rogers sang on, a lonely preacher in the desert.

Until he came to that certain line and Moira joined in. “ _You can do it with ease, just get on your knees_ -” there, she smiled sweetly- “and dearly get out, Mr Shaw. Haden’t you heard what my girlfriend said?”

Shaw bristled. Shaw scowled. Shaw took his coat and his gloves and his hat and left.

“Well.” Emma locked the door and turned back around to face her guests. “I guess that’s where the fun part starts.”

  
  


The morning after, they discovered that there was no more breakfast cereal left for seven people (their neighbors had left around midnight, and so had the Adler-Darkholmes because they didn’t want to risk leaving their babysitter alone with their two kids for one whole night, so now there were only Charles, Erik and Emma’s three colleagues left). Moira took the lead, and that was how they ended up eating the mince pies Charles had brought as a gift with a side of cold turkey at eight in the morning. Emma thought it was perfect.

The others weren’t in a haste to leave, so they all sat down around the table, with mugs of coffee and tea, and chatted the hours away. Charles was wincing every now and then, but when Emma asked him if the sofa had been uncomfortable, he only shook his head and smiled. And beside him, Erik smiled, too. Moira was shooting her girlfriend wide grins, wiggling her eyebrows, until she got kicked in the shin under the table, because it was nobody’s business but the two men’s. What was Emma’s business though was that Azazel, Angel and Janos had all three emerged from the same guest bedroom, even though there were two, and that they were considerably rumpled and smiling sheepishly. Well, now Emma could add to the tea getting passed around in the headquarters, and she thought it was perfect.

Then, there was Moira, giving kisses on cheeks and waving when one after the other, their guests trickled out. She was soft in Emma’s arms, warm, a secure presence that would never, ever leave her, of this she could be certain.

“Now, popcorn and a movie?” Moira finally asked and twisted around in Emma’s embrace to place a soft kiss on her lips, like a butterfly landing gingerly.

Emma side-eyed the mess that was the kitchen. “Shouldn’t we first…?”

“Uh, no.” Grinning, Moira led her over to the couch and threw a blanket over her. “You stay right here and choose a movie, and I’ll get us snacks in the kitchen, and then we’ll have a perfect rest of- uh.”

It was probably making her look like a fool, but Emma couldn’t stop a wide grin spreading on her lips. “I think it’s perfect. I think it was perfect, yesterday night.”

“Even though...” Guilt was crashing like waves over Moira, for what, Emma did not know. “Even though it wasn’t all _that_ _perfect_?”

The realization had come after Shaw had left, when they had started talking about making the man lose his position, and when Erik had come up to Emma and thanked her silently. She tugged Moira down with her until she could nuzzle at her woman’s neck, nip at her beautiful girlfriend’s earlobe and breathe quietly, “ _Someone_ taught me that only imperfection makes perfection.”

It sent a shiver down Moira’s spine, and a giggle up from her lips, and Emma thought it was just _perfect_. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed & have a nice Christmas time and beginning of the new decade (:


End file.
